Teeing
it up with a true guru,
the Tibetan lama who is knownto
his chums as George

When he was 7 years old, living in a remote mountain village in Tibet,
Losang Kunga Gyurme was identified by religious visionaries as the reincarnation
of an 11th-century lama. So he's got that going for him.

What he doesn't have going is his iron game. He's chewing up the fairway
of a short par 4 at Stone Tree Golf Club in Novato, Calif. -- a wire-framed,
wildly flailing figure in a saffron robe.

"That last shot had too much ego," he says. "This time,
I need to clear my mind."

He clears his mind, but his 7-iron shot doesn't clear the water. Triple
bogey for the man known today as Lama Kunga Rinpoche, esteemed Buddhist
teacher and also a devoted student of the links.

In a game overrun with self-proclaimed gurus, Lama Kunga is the real McCoy,
a spiritual guide dispatched to this country by the Dalai Lama to lead
disciples toward enlightenment. That's one of his missions. His other:
seeking out fairways and greens.

"Golf is a nice game, the best game," Lama Kunga says. "To
play well, you need to let your expectations go."

The lama had agreed to an afternoon round at the swank course despite
its strict dress code: no jeans, no tank tops. They don't have a policy
on yellow robes.

I'd picked him up at his place, a large house that doubles as a meditation
center, with views of the Golden Gate Bridge. He's a monkish 65-year-old
with buzzed gray hair and a Larry Mize build. There were piles of plush
pillows, a colorful shrine and an oversize snapshot of Lama Kunga's close
friend, the Dalai Lama.
'Suffering comes from 'anger, frustration, self-consciousness. If you
play golf, you know what I mean.' "No, the Dalai Lama does not play
golf," says Lama Kunga. He looks disappointed. Last year, when the
Dalai Lama was visiting the Bay Area, Lama Kunga considered dragging him
to the driving range. Then he thought better of it. "One day I will
say, 'Your Holiness, I would like to tell you about golf,' " Lama
Kunga says. "He will be happy to know I play. He is very busy making
the world a better place, but I think he could use the exercise."

On the way to the course, the lama expounds on the link between golf and
Buddhism. In both religions, one comes face to face with the Four Noble
Truths. The first truth holds that suffering is unavoidable.

"The second," the lama says, "is that the origins of suffering
come from anger, frustration, self-consciousness. If you play golf, you
know what I mean." (The third and fourth truths may not fix your
slice, but they do explain how to get rid of all this pesky suffering.)

Just then, the transmission in my Geo begins to suffer. We hit a congested
merge, but the stick is stuck. A big rig roars behind us, blaring its
horn. But the lama stays serene, gazing peacefully over the dashboard.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'd hate to be responsible for the
death of a high lama." "That would be bad karma," he replies.

I can't tell if he's making a pun.

We sputter the rest of the way in the breakdown lane. Outside the course
entrance, the car gasps and dies. I get out and push. The lama steers.
When we park, I kick the tires and curse.

"If it can be fixed, it is not a problem," says the lama. "If
it cannot be fixed, it is not a problem." He is sounding a lot like
my mechanic. Still, he's right. The sun is shining. We're playing golf.

We're joined by Brian (Big Dog) Soczka, a local pro known for his prodigious
length, who begins the proceedings with a Himalayan drive 300 yards down
the fairway. The lama pull-hooks his ball into the weeds -- the golf equivalent
of yin and yank.

What is the sound of one man hacking? You learn the answer quickly when
you play with Lama Kunga. He first picked up a club at age 57 while visiting
Sweden on a spiritual mission. One pure shot was enough to hook him. He
took a lesson, learned a few fundamentals. Someone told him to visualize
his shots, a simple hint that didn't help at all.

"To me, golf is 90 percent physical," says the lama. "Mentally
I am very strong. How do you explain that my best score is 97?"

If only he had started younger. But there was no golf in tiny Black Horse
village, where Lama Kunga was raised. When he was still knee-high to Willie
Wood, members of a spiritual search-party showed up at his door. The child,
they said, was the reincarnation of Sevanrepa, a disciple of Milarepa,
the revered poet and lama who had lived 900 years before. He was whisked
off to a monastery, ordained, and was serving as an abbot in 1959 when
the Chinese invaded Tibet. Three years later, on orders from the Dalai
Lama, he fled to the United States. He settled in New Jersey ("Very
cold," he says), then moved to California, where he now tees it up
several times a week. He never bets and rarely keeps score. Most days,
he shows up as a single at a public track and introduces himself as George.

Although Buddha recommended the Middle Path, on the course Lama Kunga
rarely takes it. Now and then, he admits, he feels the seeds of golf frustration
growing inside him, but he chuckles at barbarians who fling their putters
and snap their sand wedges. "They have not achieved consciousness
yet," he says.

Soczka, meanwhile, is flat-out unconscious, blistering his drives and
stiffing his irons. On the 13th green, he turns to the lama: "If
you hit a good shot, does that mean you have good karma?"

Lama Kunga embarks on an elaborate description of the 13 stages of enlightenment.
A good shot, he says, doesn't necessarily imply good karma, but it can
represent a small "rebirth."

On the 14th hole, the lama skids his drive into the trees, then drops
another in the fairway without adding a stroke. His next shot plops in
the bunker. A fried-egg lie. But the lama improves it.

"Would the Buddha say it's OK to move your ball?" I ask.

"Sure,"the lama grins. "Why not?"

On the 15th tee, Soczka strolls over to the lama. "Try releasing
your hands," he says. "Fire through at impact. Finish high."

The lama uncorks a beauty. He pumps his fist. There they stand, the golf
pro and the guru, exchanging high-fives. It's a giddy moment, and Soczka
can't resist the Caddyshack comment.

"Hey, lama," he says, in his best Bill Murray. "How about
a little something, you know, for the effort?"
But the lama is unacquainted with the movie. So Soczka fills him in on
the famous routine: how the Dalai Lama, instead of paying his caddie,
promises him total consciousness.

"Yes, yes, very funny," says the lama. "I will have to
rent that movie. And if you'd like total consciousness, you can have it.
Why not?"

The round winds down. Soczka closes birdie-par-birdie. No one's keeping
track of the lama's score, least of all the lama. If he makes bogey, it
is not a problem. If he makes double bogey, it is not a problem.

I call for a tow truck. The lama lays a hand on my shoulder. "Don't
worry about your car," he says. "Let go of your expectations.
That is very important." "Maybe one day my car will be reborn
with a new transmission," I suggest.

The lama looks doubtful.

"I don't know about that," he says. "But I would like to
be reincarnated as a better golfer some day."